


Those Beautiful Doe Eyes

by andromeda_tambourine



Category: Gackt (Musician) - Fandom, Kiyoharu (Musician), L'Arc~en~Ciel
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Noir, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromeda_tambourine/pseuds/andromeda_tambourine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautiful Mexican chica walks into Kitamura's life and brings in a whole lot of trouble.</p>
<p>Note: This was a fic I wrote in 2005 and posted on Livejournal. I'm just archiving all my old fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Beautiful Doe Eyes

The moment she walked into my office, I knew there was going to be trouble.

She had a spicy aura, like a hot Mexican summer that lasted too long for its own good. Her clothes were tight, her breasts popping out of that blouse, more leg showing more than what was probably legal. She was pretty. Too pretty. What was she trying to prove? That she wasn’t, deep down, just a frightened little girl looking for the help of a big ol’ man. Just like all dames.

“Mr. Kitamura?” She had an accent in that quiver of a voice. Mexican. What was a Mexican doing in China Town?

I decided to be honest. That’s the kind of guy I am. “Can’t help you, doll.” 

I expected her to fall to her knees. Beg for my help. Maybe even offer sex as payment. That’s how we play my game. But instead, she stood where she was.

“You don’t even know what I want.” She spit when she talked because of her accent. Damn Mexicans.

But how could I not smile? “That’s right, sweetheart. And it’s gonna stay that way. You’re not gonna start bawlin’ your eyes out, you’re not gonna tell me your sap story, and you’re certainly not gonna stay in my life for another minute, so beat it, doll, before you piss me off.”

She didn’t move. She must’ve really wanted me.

“I heard about your tricks.” She was sharp. Uncharacteristic of a broad such as herself. “And I don’t want you to know the whole story. I just need information.” 

I couldn’t believe what she pulled out of her little pocket book. I couldn’t believe it would fit. I couldn’t believe I was staring down the barrel of a .44 Magnum held by a Mexican chica with doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries. And she knew how to hold it. Go figure.

That same smile crossed my face. “They teach you how to use that thing in finishing school, sweetheart?” The question was irrelevant. I knew that if I even blinked the wrong way, the walls of my office would be splattered with my brains in a matter of milliseconds. Still, it would go well with the rest of the décor.

Her face was stoic. I hate stoic dames. “Where’s El Gakuto?”

I nearly lost my cool. Nearly. El Gakuto was the craziest son-of-a-bitch on this hemisphere, maybe even the world. No one knew his real name. Hell, “el gakuto” didn’t mean shit in any language, but he used it anyway, like he was some sort of Mexican serial killer. But it didn’t matter. Nothing would change how crazy he was. He started out as a lackey for the infamous Mana-sama, a drag queen pimp with a taste for cocaine. It wasn’t long before the two became close. Close enough to have El Gakuto running the Powdered Trail north of the Rio Grande. He was a business man. He was good for the business. Ruthless. Cutthroat. Unforgiving. But either Mana-sama got in the way or El Gakuto decided he wanted the whole pie instead of just a slice because it wasn’t long before Mana-sama’s burnt and mangled corpse was found in a dumpster full of dead fish and dresses. 

“Now what’s a dame like you wantin’ to get mixed up with a son-of-a-bitch like him for?” I knew that smirk of mine would probably get me a new hole in my head, but I couldn’t help it.

The barrel of the .44 magnum hit me hard in the chest slightly to the right of my lead Bible. Much good that would’ve done me. I was forced to lean back further in my chair as she straddled me faster than I could say, “How much for the night?”

“I ask the questions.” She smelled like lilies and peppers. A deadly combination. “I know you know where that rat bastard El Gakuto is. Tell me. Or I blow you clean through.”

Damn my sick sense of humor. Damn her for saying “blow” with a straight face. “Look, toots, I don’t know where El Gakuto is. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. You obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

I felt the steel pressing cold under my chin. It was the kind of feeling you can’t describe to anyone who hasn’t felt it before. Think of putting an iron pipe under your chin and knowing that in less than a blink of an eye it could take your last thought and send it straight to the ceiling. Not that a pipe could do that. That’s a terrible metaphor.

“I don’t have much time, you bastard!” Her eyes were pleading. I hate it when dames with doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries get like that. I just wanted to give her the world and then some. What can I say? I’m a softy.

But it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t have a clue where El Gakuto was, nor did I want to know. Still, she was right to come looking to me for answers. A few years ago, I had a crazy run in with El Gakuto. Swept one of his hoes off her feet, landing both of us on the top of El Gakuto’s hit list. He managed to find the broad. Killed her. Damn shame. Either he thought that was punishment enough or he was just waiting for the right opportunity because he hadn’t got to me. Yet. Still, I took my own revenge by killing his favorite henchman.

Before I could take another moment to ogle her cleavage, I heard the front door of my office building come crashing down. Whoever was pressing this dame for time had left his patience at home because I could hear him and a troop of others barreling up the steps like a herd of buffalo. 

“Shit.” She looked towards the door long enough for me to grab her wrist and twist the .44 magnum out of her hand. She yelped while I picked up the gun and shoved it in my coat pocket.

“You wanna live to see your grandkids, chica?” The steps were getting closer so I didn’t have much time to argue. She nodded as I pushed her off of me. I thrust the window open and shoved her through to the fire escape. I followed.

The good thing about being on the thirteenth floor with no elevator is that it takes unwanted individuals minutes to get to you. The bad thing about being on the thirteenth floor with no elevator is that you’re on the thirteenth floor with no elevator. 

“¡Ay, Dios mio!” Maybe she didn’t realize I don’t know a lick of Spanish. 

The wind was blowing and it was cool as she instinctively clutched my arm. I don’t blame her. It was a long way down and I’m sure her face wouldn’t look nearly as pretty flattened against the pavement.

The ladder clanked down when I kicked it. It was loud, but not nearly as loud as the shot that went zooming by ear. Colt 92. Not bad. Our three guests had arrived and they brought a steaming hot platter of whoop ass. 

The dame must’ve been used to being shot at because she ducked down the ladder faster than a Mexican escaping gun fire. Ok, maybe I should say as fast as a Mexican escaping gun fire. I followed, but not before I fired that .44 magnum. It’s not every day you come across one of those. And especially one with such a perfect shot. Guest Number One went down as if the Grim Reaper was sitting right on his shoulder.

We were on the eleventh floor before Guest Numbers Two and Three made it out the window. I figured they were checking to see if their buddy, Guest Number One, was still breathing after I planted one directly between his eyes. They must’ve realized it would be an impossible shot through the fire escape because they were trailing us almost as fast as my Mexican, who had me baffled with how much agility she had going down in those heels. Go figure.

By the time we got to the third floor, I was tired of staring at the black metal of the fire escape and decided to push the dame down the rest of the way. Good thing there was a pile of trash bags or I would’ve been stuck with a Mexican with two broken legs. Not the first time that would’ve happened.

I snatched her wrist and bolted down the alley as I heard Guest Numbers Two and Three trying to settle themselves so they could fire. Amateurs. We ducked into a busy street before they could even aim. Both of us sighed.

I didn’t need to ask who they were, but I did anyway.

“El Gakuto’s henchmen.” She kept at a steady pace next to me, eyes ahead. She’d done this before.

I figured as much. “Now are you going to tell me what they’re after, dollface?” 

“Not here.” I couldn’t argue with that. Anyone we passed on the street could be one of El Gakuto’s. 

Luckily, I was welcome at Le Mason d’Amor, a bar, brothel, and burlesque show conveniently a few blocks away from my office. The place was busy and the girls were clean. A perfect place for me to enjoy life without sticking out like a sore thumb.

It was early afternoon, but the place was still overflowing with business. It smelled like perfume and men. The 2 o’clock crowd.

I led her towards the bar. “I know someone who may be able to help you.” 

“And you can’t?” She looked at me with those doe eyes like a lost puppy. I began to hate myself.

“I took you this far. Any more and El Gakuto will know where I am.” Not that he didn’t already. Damn broad blew whatever cover I might’ve had. 

I ordered a Liquid Sex. The bartender nodded and went to the end of the bar. There sat a figure in an auburn wig wearing a dark green dress with a carnation tied to it, tattoos on both arms. A flapper on crack. A few hushed words were exchanged between the bartender and the figure before the latter got up and went to a back room. A fuck room if you were lucky, interrogation room if you weren’t. But in the end, it was just a boiler room.

We followed. I closed the door behind us.

“Who’s the chick?” That was no way to greet an old friend. 

“You look like shit, Kiyoharu.” An eye for an eye.

He reached behind a radiator and pulled out a slightly soggy pack of cigarettes. “I’m working.” Didn’t even offer us a smoke.

I smiled. “Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” 

“I just said I was working.” No sense of humor.

The chica snatched a cigarette out of Kiyoharu’s carton before he could say anything. She took a lighter out of her purse.

His only defense was to frown. “I don’t have time for you. And I don’t know this chick so don’t waste any more of my time.” He was never one for pleasantries. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much. 

“I thought you said you’d find someone to help me, not some sleazy, cross-dressing whore!” That broad sure had a big mouth.

He had a stoic face. “You better shut up, bitch.” How is it that I liked stoic guys but not stoic dames?

“Filthy whore.” I wished she’d shut the hell up.

Kiyoharu had a fire. For the most part, he was a miserable sack of nothing that worked as a transvestite prostitute because he had nothing better to do. Not that he was good at pretending to be a woman. He just liked to suck cock and I never understood why. Oral fixation. Whatever the hell that means. For the most part, he could take anything from men. Badmouthing, beating, butt fucking. For the most part, you’d think he was a pretty chill guy. But when he came within twenty feet of a vagina, his eyes would go ablaze with rage and he’d punch her lights out for no reason. For the most part, Kiyoharu hated women.

“Where’s El Gakuto?” It was about time I spoke. I hadn’t heard my own voice in a few minutes and it was starting to bother me.

“What’s your name, bitch?” He ignored me. I figured.

“Guadalupe.” Our Lady Guadalupe. Patroness of the Americas. “And don’t call me bitch.”

His upper lip twitched. “Las Vegas.” Kiyoharu never asked who, what, where, when, or why. He’d read you like a book the moment you stepped into his eyesight. If he didn’t think you needed to know something, you didn’t need to know something.

I was satisfied. “So now you know, dollface.” Even though she seemed disappointed. “Thanks, buddy.” I patted Kiyoharu on the shoulder. He looked at me sheepishly and smiled. Damn flirt.

“How can I reach him?” Why was she pressing on? I thought she’d played this game before.

“This isn’t a dating service, chica.” I wanted to laugh at her. “He doesn’t have a hotline or something.”

I was ignored again. “Vaya al Motel Oasis y busca al Relámpago Chino.”

I hate the Spanish language. It’s spitty and ugly. And I couldn’t understand a lick of it.

But Guadalupe nodded. I guess she understood. Why wouldn’t she? Damn Mexican.

There was a knock. Then another. Then rapping. That was the signal for trouble.

“They found us, sweetheart.” I grabbed her by the wrist and headed for the door.

But Kiyoharu was in our way. “I’ll distract them. You go out the back.” He opened the door just enough to let his boney ass out.

“We have to go to Las Vegas.” Her eyes cut through me like a hot knife through butter. 

I couldn’t fool myself. This dame, with her doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries, was starting to peak my interest. What was her beef with El Gakuto? Why was she so attached to me? Why did I care?

I smiled. “Yeah, doll, but first we gotta get the hell outta here.”

We snuck out the door to see Kiyoharu putting the sugar on Guest Number Two while Guest Number Three looked like he was going to fall into a coma. Guess he’d never seen a “dame” like that before. The back exit was only a few feet away, so we made it out easy. I guess they’d put it near the boiler room for a reason. So people like us could make a clean getaway. 

“Do you have a car?” We were out in another back alley, standing near a pile of trash like we had nothing better to do. She seemed out of place.

I lived in the middle of Los Angeles. I stayed in China Town. I barely had enough to pay rent. Why would I have a car? “We’ll have to bus it, babycakes.”

Man invented public transportation for two types of people. First type was thugs. Second type was people like us: people running from thugs to get to other thugs in a different city. But those two types of people never met on the same bus. I guess we were lucky. It left a lot of time for the dame and me to ignore each other.

But you can’t say I didn’t try. “So what exactly are you gettin’ yourself mixed up with El Gakuto for, doll?” 

“That’s none of your concern.” She had a sharp tongue.

I moved on. “What part of Mexico are you from, chica?”

“What’s it to you?” Nasty bitch.

One more. “Are you single, sweetheart?”

Those eyes. She slapped me. I bet she was a demon in the sack.

Whoever said Las Vegas is a great place to bring the whole family was full of shit. Unless your family consisted of a mob boss, crack dealer, and stripper. And don’t forget Grandma $20 Prostitute. 

We got there after four hours. The air conditioner broke on the bus, so I melted onto the seat like a G.I. Joe under a heat lamp. The dame only looked a little uncomfortable. I never understood how dames could be sweating their asses off and still look like they were ready for the grand ball. But who goes to balls nowadays?

We stood on the pavement at the bus station for a whole minute, looking back and forth as if the signs for 24 Hour Nude Show and Casino Win Big were going to tell us where we needed to be.

“El Motel Oasis.” I wanted to tell her about my lack of Spanish skills.

I didn’t go to Vegas much, but I’d been there enough times to know that the Oasis Motel lay somewhere between the casinos and the desert. It was the border. It was a refugee camp for people trying to get the hell out of Vegas without actually leaving. Damn city was like a drug, probably more addictive than crack. I heard that on TV once.

We took another bus to the motel, this time it was Las Vegas Transit. Smelled like sweat and broken luck.

“So what are we doing at this dump, chica?” It wasn’t too bad. Just needed a little paint. And some class.

She seemed anxious. I don’t blame her. We were close enough to El Gakuto and she and I could feel it. “El Relámpago Chino. The Chinese Lightning.”

The Chinese Lightning wasn’t Chinese at all. He was Taiwanese-American. But the Mexicans who trained him into being the toughest boxer since Tyson didn’t give a shit if he was Taiwanese or Rottweiler, as long as he worked his opponent for a few rounds before giving him a blow that sent the poor bastard back to infancy. 

The motel lobby was vacant. If you can call it a lobby. It was more like a metal desk with a few potted plants dried to the stems hanging around. 

“And what do you expect us to do now that we’re here, toots?” It wasn’t like we could go up and just ask for the leading competitor in Mexican boxing.

She beamed at the receptionist. “¿Dónde está el Relámpago Chino?” She had a sugary sweetness in her voice. Only a tart such as herself could pull that off.

“¿Tú eres su date?” He eyeballed her like an Ethiopian on a rack of lamb.

She leaned over the desk, her cleavage busting out. She nodded.

“¿Y él?” He pointed at me with a greasy finger. I bet he wished it was touching my Mexican’s ass.

Why’d she have to wink at me? “El conductor.” 

All this talk in Spanish was making me taste the burrito I ate a few weeks ago that just didn’t want to stay down. 

Luckily, the receptionist didn’t say another word as he led us down a hallway. There was something about motels that was always standard: the smell of other people and cheap soap. Even if the staff wanted to, they’d never get rid of that stench because other people keep coming and using cheap soap.

“Aqui.” Room 2B. I hated the puns associated with that room number.

When the guy left, the chica reached up to knock on the door. I snatched her arm before those delicate knuckles could rap on that moldy wood with the paint chipping off. How was it that we could be in the middle of a desert and mold would still fester? I guess that’s another standard of motels.

“Wait. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” I had to try again. There was no telling what connection this champion boxer had with the world’s most bloodthirsty sociopath. If I was supposed to protect her, the least I wanted in payment was her having some idea.

Too late. The door opened to reveal a tall Taiwanese man with a crooked nose. He was wearing Haines boxer shorts as if to make a statement that his life revolved around the sport and nothing else. What a prick.

“Can I help you?” He meant that in an annoyed sort of way, but damn, that was the nicest greeting anyone gave me all week.

The dame smiled. Not her seductive smile, but an innocent one you only see virgins give their high school crush. “Leehom!”

“It’s you!” He seemed dumbstruck. He knew this broad?

She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. I saw her whisper something in his ear, which caused him to flash me a look of interest. I tensed. Damnit. That kind of thing only happens when you sucker a guy into helping you, drag his sorry ass to Las Vegas, and finally blow his brains out with a semi-automatic in front of your fellow con boyfriend. Bitch set me up. But still, her doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries kept me trusting her. I guess being shot up by a creature such as her wasn’t too bad of a way to go.

“Step inside.” This Leehom character ushered us in and closed the door. The room was stark, like all motel rooms, with a pair of boxing gloves on the bed and a ton of that white tape boxers wrap their hands in. I never followed the sport. Why get yourself beat up for no reason?

“This is Kitamura.” Formalities. Assassins in the movies always go through with it, but never in real life. There’s no point. Unless maybe they didn’t want to kill me.

I smirked. “Pleasure.”

He ignored me. “Guadalupe.” He was choking on his own words. I hate men who cry. Especially fighters. “Go home. It’s too dangerous here.”

“I can’t.” Guess she wore the pants in their relationship. “I need to find El Gakuto.”

I butted in. “I told her she was digging a deep whole looking for El Gak-..” He smothered that name with his hand. It smelled like plastic and blood and I wanted to puke so I shoved him away from me, too shocked to punch his lights out.

Though it was probably better that I hadn’t tried, considering he was a boxer and all. “The walls have ears.” In any other situation, he’d sound like a nutcase, but I believed him. This whole city was swarming with the little termites El Gakuto called his henchmen as they gnawed away at any sense of privacy. 

“I thought you of all people would understand, Leehom.” She seemed disappointed. I just felt like I was missing a huge chunk of the story. “I need to kill him.”

He grabbed her hand. How mushy. “But he already wants you dead. If you even try to get him, who knows what he’ll do to you? It’ll be a worse death than you can even imagine.”

“That’s only if I fail.” I’d never seen such a cocky broad. “After I succeed, nothing will matter. Not my life. Not anyone’s.”

He let go of her to wrap his hands in that white tape. I had no idea what it was for, but he obviously needed a lot of it because he kept circling his hand over and over. “I won’t have any part in this.”

“Please.” She had that same look she gave me when she wanted my help. I felt like an outsider. I felt cheated. It was all fake.

He must’ve been thinking the same thing. “I won’t tell you where he is.” What a pussy. He could sure as hell protect his own face, but when the time came, he couldn’t help out a beautiful Mexican chica with doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries. 

She and I were both disappointed. Guadalupe because she was stuck in seeking whatever revenge she wanted to seek on El Gakuto. Me because I was stuck with her and couldn’t bail out now.

But maybe this Leehom character wasn’t such a pussy after all. “The Luxor is having a banquet for us boxers tonight. A lot of high rollers will be there.” Casual conversation, but Guadalupe and I knew what was behind it. 

“Fine.” She spat, but I guess that was a pleased spat because she smiled. “Good bye.”

He didn’t look at her as we left. “Vaya con Dios.” That must be something you say to people who are about to die.

It was already sunset so we took Las Vegas Transit to the Luxor. Out of all the money-grubbing, dream-shattering, sucker-punching casinos in Las Vegas, I hated the Luxor the most. This was a place modeled after another place modeled after some dick’s dream of eternal life. There’s nothing that screams prick more than thinking you can live forever. 

“How do I look?” She looked like a vision of beauty. A goddess before me.

I straightened out my collar. “You look alright, dollface.” 

“I don’t want to look suspicious.” She peered at her reflection in the tinted window of a parked Mercedes. 

Still, she kind of looked like a hooker. “Sweetheart, you’ll blend right in.” And I looked like every other sorry sap trying to win back his dignity with the roll of a dice, the draw of a card, the spin of a wheel. 

The glass doors slid open. It was crowded, as always, and you could smell the desperation in the air just as well as you could smell the imitation Calvin Klein cologne. El Gakuto wasn’t on the main floor, but being here gave us time to make a plan.

“I go alone from here.” She started to stalk off towards the high-rollers’ room. How’d the likes of her know where that was?

I snatched her wrist. “You’re kidding me, chica. No way am I going to leave a little girl like you to the wolves.” I motioned towards the thugs all around. Big burly guys with opaque sunglasses and Armani suits. You know you’re loaded when you can buy your henchmen a $200 pair of socks and then some.

“He’ll kill you.” She spit on that first word. I only knew this because she brought herself close to my face, close enough to touch my stubble with her cheek.

I smirked. “He’ll kill me eventually. At least now I’ll die with you next to me.”

Our lips touched.

“Thank you.” She smiled at me. “Come on.” She hurried away. I could still feel her.

I had to shake every nice feeling out of my body. There was business to take care of. Whatever El Gakuto had done to upset this Mexican chica with those doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips that tasted like strawberries needed to be avenged. I didn’t care what the hell it was. All I knew was that we were digging ourselves a deep hole with no way out. 

Two burly guys stood in front of the high rollers’ lounge. I knew El Gakuto was in there because I could smell the Platinum Egoist billowing out from under the door.

One of the guys flinched. “What are you doing here?”

I thought he was talking about me. How could he recognize me? Hadn’t it been years since I last had a run-in with El Gakuto’s people? And I didn’t know these apes.

“Let me in.” She had a fire in her eyes. So unlike the look she gave me two minutes before. 

The thugs stepped aside as they opened the door. I felt my stomach tie into a knot so tight, no one could untie it without cutting it out first. 

You’d think he’d have more security before you even got to see him, but that bastard was so cocky, he just had those two idiots at the door and a room full of burly no-names that I could probably take in one punch. It was all for show. He didn’t need anyone to protect him. That son of a bitch.

“You son of a bitch.” She opened her mouth. I hoped to whatever God there was that she hadn’t and my ears were just playing tricks on me. But she had. She insulted the most ruthless, cutthroat, deadly man I’d ever crossed paths with. And I was right there. She was beautiful, but damn, was she dumb.

The doors closed behind us. Some of the thugs recognized me, so they pulled out any form of weapon they had and pointed them at my head. The rest were focused on my Mexican, who had her .44 Magnum out, safety off, aiming straight at El Gakuto’s nuts.

He was in a customized Armani suit, his hair slicked back like any good killer. While one hand took a drag, the other stroked a bejeweled cane. That cane was his weapon of choice when things got personal. He’d jab his victim in the crotch, the gut, the throat. You wouldn’t die right away. Your innards would be exposed as blood and air leaked out of you. And he’d read you poetry. His poetry. Flowery love letters with no point. When he finished, he’d poke a hole clean through your head right between the eyes. That cane is what he used to kill the hooker who loved me. That’s what I stole and used to kill his best friend.

He put out his cigarette and stared at Guadalupe as if she were asking him to kindly remove his pants so she could blow him. I wanted to spit on him for looking at her like that.

“This is quite unfair to all of us.” His voice was like satin. Satin that would wrap around someone’s neck and strangle until there wasn’t an ounce of life in that person’s body. “Because you arrived so unexpectedly, I am unprepared to entertain you.”

I always hated how he beat around the bush. “Do it now, Guadalupe. Don’t let him sweet talk you.”

He laughed. Satan quivered in his goat hooves. “Guadalupe? You told him your name is Guadalupe? I find this situation highly amusing, considering Guadalupe’s current residence six feet under.”

That knot in my stomach just turned into a rock. She lied to me. She wasn’t a beautiful Mexican maiden with doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips that tasted like strawberries looking for my help. She was a liar.

“Shut up!” She was shaking. “You fucked her over and I’m the only one who can make things right!”

He stood up. The cronies didn’t let up. “I thought things were settled. Guadalupe stole from me, I killed her. It’s called karma. You should have no qualms with me.”

“She was my sister!” The plot twist. “I admit that she was an idiot for borrowing money from you and thinking she didn’t have to pay it back, but that didn’t give you the right to rape and kill her!” Damn broad. Whoever she really was. She was getting emotional, letting her guard down.

He ran a finger along the top of his cane. I always thought he was compensating for something by carrying that around all the time, but I’d have to use my balls for earrings if I ever said that out loud. 

“Francesca.” That name. Coming out of El Gakuto’s mouth, it sounded so familiar. “You used to be so precious. Now you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Of course. Francesca. Everyone knew about El Gakuto’s most prized whore. He went so far as to call her his concubine. I had heard that she disappeared off the face of the earth after her nameless sister got herself killed, but I had just assumed that El Gakuto had done away with her. Now she was standing right next to me, threatening El Gakuto with a .44 Magnum as a familiar figure crept up behind her. 

Shit.

I was too slow. All I could do was watch as the wire wrapped around her head over her doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips that tasted like strawberries. It took a millisecond for it to break skin, another millisecond to draw blood, another millisecond to slice clean through. 

I could’ve screamed. I could’ve held her lifeless body and wept like the sap that I am. But I didn’t. This scene was vaguely familiar. The man behind her was the man I killed all those years ago to get back at El Gakuto. He giggled. I remember that giggle. Son of a bitch. He disappeared into the crowd of cronies.

“You loved Guadalupe, didn’t you, Kitamura?” El Gakuto liked to talk. He liked to make conversation even if you were staring into the mangled face of a once beautiful Mexican chica who lied to you.

His thugs relaxed. I didn’t look at him. “No, I guess I loved Francesca.”

“That’s not Francesca.” He stood by my side. “When Guadalupe’s body died, her spirit possessed her sister, Francesca. Guadalupe wanted vengeance. She was the one who seduced you, who dragged you into her plot to kill me. She was the one you protected. She was the one who kissed you. But she could never kill me. Francesca wouldn’t let her.”

I smirked. “You know, El Gakuto.” I threw caution to the wind. “You’re full of shit.”

He laughed, dry and flat. “I don’t ever want to see your face again, Kitamura. Leave.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” His henchmen began to shove me out the door. 

He returned to his seat. “Karma. As you can see, you didn’t actually kill my friend here, thus we are balanced at the current time. But I have a feeling that if we ever cross paths again, you’ll do something to upset the balance.”

“Speak for yourself.” He probably didn’t hear me because the door was slammed in my face and the same burly nobodies stood in my way. 

Guadalupe. Francesca. Whoever. She trusted me. That beautiful Mexican chica with doe eyes and flowing brown hair and lips like strawberries trusted me and I failed her. Karma my ass. If El Gakuto wants balance, I’ll give him balance. I owe it to Guadalupe. 

End.


End file.
